


Namárië

by carrionqueen (nightquill)



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Gen, One Shot, Pining, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9193187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightquill/pseuds/carrionqueen
Summary: One last glimpse of her beloved. A short oneshot about hope - false or otherwise.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keter/gifts).



> _Namárië _is tolkien!Elvish for 'farewell' and it has always had connotations of a bitter parting for me.__

She would have gone with him. She wished she had - to see the Abyss for herself, to test her mettle. To remain close to him. But he had taken Sif, and with that great wolf at his side he was sure to remain safe. Still, unease gripped her, and as she watched from the walls as he departed the city, she clutched the daisy he had given her in her hand. An undying flower. A symbol of his affection, he had said, affection that they would discuss upon his return. She had kissed the flower gently, then, for wanting of his lips, and they had shared only a moment in the eyes. It had been as tender as a touch, and just as intimate.

But now, as the great knight strode from the city, sword and mighty shield settled against his back, she could not help but fear. Should he not return to her... should their affections remain a secret, even between them… It was selfish, she supposed, to pit her own dreams of love against the fate of the world. The Abyss could not be halted without Artorias. Oolacile was dead, and the darkness spreading fast. In the face of that, her affections meant little.

Or rather... objectively, she knew this to be true. But it was not so easy to convince her heart of it. She was full to bursting with longing even now, and he was barely a moment out of the gates. His name stuck in her mouth - she sought to call after him, to wave one last time from the walls, but propriety held her back. it wasn't until Ornstein joined her there, gleaming gold, helm tucked under one arm, that she realized that she had been holding her breath. 

"He will return," Ornstein mused quietly, as though reading her thoughts. "If anyone is to succeed, it will be him."

"He should not go alone." Ciaran mustered, her words hoarse. She rubbed her thumb over the petals of the daisy, a charm in her hands to worry at. "We should all have gone to face that darkness together."

Ornstein set a great hand on her shoulder, the weight of his armor comforting against her. "And how would we have done that, Sir Ciaran?" she could hear the smile in his voice. "Artorias the Abysswalker is not titled thus for our Lord's amusement. We cannot help him. His covenant with the darkness -"

"Yes. I know." Ciaran snapped. She hadn't meant to be so harsh about it. "I’m sorry. I fear for him. I fear for what shall become of us,"

"Ciaran. Calm yourself. Trust in him. Your concern is not entirely unwarranted but you must trust in him. There is nothing to be done about it now. Sif will protect him," the dragonslayer added, inclining his head toward her. Ciaran blinked up at him as the sun glinted from his plated armor, gleaming for all of Anor Londo to see. 

The Lord’s Blade bowed her head and touched her hand to his gauntlet, still resting on her shoulder. "You are right, my friend. As ever." she took a breath. "Come. We should find our good Sir Hawkeye. Tonight will be the last we spend together for some time," she reminded him, forcing a smile, forcing her concern for Artorias from her mind. "And we should spend it merrily!" she tucked the daisy behind her ear, beaming up at him. 

Ornstein laughed, a warm sound, and settled his helm atop his head once more. The bright red plume lifted in the breeze, and Ciaran’s smile turned genuine. Of all of the Knights of Gwyn, it was Ornstein best embodied their purpose. Blazing, inspiring, and imposing. Artorias may be gone but her companions - her fellow knights, her brothers in arms - remained. She would not spend this night in sorrow.


End file.
